True to his promise, Mr. Smith "tried" Mr. Frank Blaisdell on "the
ancestor business" very soon. Laboriously he got out his tabulated
dates and names and carefully he traced for him several lines of
descent from remote ancestors. Painstakingly he pointed out a
"Submit," who had no history but the bare fact of her marriage to one
Thomas Blaisdell, and a "Thankful Marsh," who had eluded his every
attempt to supply her with parents. He let it be understood how
important these missing links were, and he tried to inspire his
possible pupil with a frenzied desire to go out and dig them up. He
showed some of the interesting letters he had received from various
Blaisdells far and near, and he spread before him the genealogical
page of his latest "Transcript," and explained how one might there
stumble upon the very missing link he was looking for.

But Mr. Frank Blaisdell was openly bored. He said he didn't care how
many children his great-grandfather had, nor what they died of; and as
for Mrs. Submit and Miss Thankful, the ladies might bury themselves in
the "Transcript," or hide behind that wall of dates and names till
doomsday, for all he cared. He shouldn't disturb 'em. He never did
like figures, he said, except figures that represented something worth
while, like a day's sales or a year's profits.

And speaking of grocery stores, had Mr. Smith ever seen a store run
down as his old one had since he sold out? For that matter, something
must have got into all the grocery stores; for a poorer lot of goods
than those delivered every day at his home he never saw. It was a
disgrace to the trade.

He said a good deal more about his grocery store--hut nothing whatever
more about his Blaisdell ancestors; so Mr. Smith felt justified in
considering his efforts to interest Mr. Frank Blaisdell in the
ancestor business a failure. Certainly he never tried it again.

It was in February that a certain metropolitan reporter, short for
feature articles, ran up to Hillerton and contributed to his paper,
the following Sunday, a write-up on "The Blaisdells One Year After,"
enlarging on the fine new homes, the motor cars, and the luxurious
living of the three families. And it was three days after this article
was printed that Miss Flora appeared at Miss Maggie's, breathless with
excitement.

"Just see what I've got in the mail this morning!" she cried to Miss
Maggie, and to Mr. Smith, who had opened the door for her.

With trembling fingers she took from her bag a letter, and a small
picture evidently cut from a newspaper.

"There, see," she panted, holding them out. "It's a man in Boston, and
these are his children. There are seven of them. He wrote me a
beautiful letter. He said he knew I must have a real kind heart, and
he's in terrible trouble. He said he saw in the paper about the
wonderful legacy I'd had. and he told his wife he was going to write
to me, to see if I wouldn't help them--if only a little, it would aid
them that much."

"He wants money, then?" Miss Maggie had taken the letter and the
picture rather gingerly in her hands. Mr. Smith had gone over to the
stove suddenly--to turn a damper, apparently, though a close observer
might have noticed that he turned it back to its former position
almost at once.

"Yes," palpitated Miss Flora. "He's sick, and he lost his position,
and his wife's sick, and two of the children, and one of 'em's lame,
and another's blind. Oh, it was such a pitiful story, Maggie! Why,
some days they haven't had enough to eat--and just look at me, with
all my chickens and turkeys and more pudding every day than I can
stuff down!"

"References! What do you mean? He didn't ask me to hire him for
anything."

"No, no, dear, but I mean--did he give you any references, to show
that he was--was worthy and all right," explained Miss Maggie
patiently.

"Of course he didn't! Why, he didn't need to. He told me himself how
things were with him," rebuked Miss Flora indignantly. "It's all in
the letter there. Read for yourself."

"But he really ought to have given you some reference, dear, if he
asked you for money."

"Well, I don't want any reference. I believe him. I'd be ashamed to
doubt a man like that! And you would, after you read that letter, and
look into those blessed children's faces. Besides, he never thought of
such a thing--I know he didn't. Why, he says right in the letter there
that he never asked for help before, and he was so ashamed that he had
to now."

Mr. Smith made a sudden odd little noise in his throat. Perhaps he got
choked. At all events, he was seized with a fit of coughing just then.

"Of course I didn't delay! Why, Maggie, he said he had to have it at
once. He was going to be turned out--turned out into the streets!
Think of those seven little children in the streets! Wait, indeed!
Why, Maggie, what can you be thinking of?"

"I'm thinking you've been the easy victim of a professional beggar,
Flora," retorted Miss Maggie, with some spirit, handing back the
letter and the picture.

"Why, Maggie, I never knew you to be so--so unkind," charged Miss
Flora, her eyes tearful. "He can't be a professional beggar. He said
he wasn't--that he never begged before in his life."

Mr. Smith grew very red--perhaps because he had to stop to cough
again.

"Well, Miss Flora, I--I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I shall have to agree
with Miss Maggie here, to some extent."

"But you didn't read the letter. You don't know how beautifully he
talked."

"You told me; and you say yourself that he gave you only a post-office
box for an address. So you see you couldn't look him up very well."

"I don't need to!" Miss Flora threw back her head a little haughtily.
"And I'm glad I don't doubt my fellow men and women as you and Maggie
Duff do! If either of you knew what you're talking about, I wouldn't
say anything. But you don't. You can't know anything about this man,
and you didn't ever get letters like this, either of you, of course.
But, anyhow, I don't care if he ain't worthy. I wouldn't let those
children suffer; and I--I'm glad I sent it. I never in my life was so
happy as I was on the way here from the post-office this morning."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned away majestically; but at the
door she paused and looked back at Miss Maggie.

"And let me tell you that, however good or bad this particular man may
be, it's given me an idea, anyway," she choked. The haughtiness was
all gone now "I know now why it hasn't seemed right to be so happy.
It's because there are so many other folks in the world that aren't
happy. Why, my chicken and turkey would choke me now if I didn't give
some of it to--to all these others. And I'm going to--I'm going to!"
she reiterated, as she fled from the room.

As the door shut crisply, Miss Maggie turned and looked at Mr. Smith.
But Mr. Smith had crossed again to the stove and was fussing with the
damper. Miss Maggie, after a moment's hesitation, turned and went out
into the kitchen, without speaking.

Mr. Smith and Miss Maggie saw very little of Miss Flora after this for
some time. But they heard a good deal about her. They heard of her
generous gifts to families all over town.

A turkey was sent to every house on Mill Street, without exception,
and so much candy given to the children that half of them were made
ill, much to the distress of Miss Flora, who, it was said, promptly
sent a physician to undo her work. The Dow family, hard-working and
thrifty, and the Nolans, notorious for their laziness and
shiftlessness, each received a hundred dollars outright. The Whalens,
always with both hands metaphorically outstretched for alms, were loud
in their praises of Miss Flora's great kindness of heart; but the
Davises (Mrs. Jane Blaisdell's impecunious relatives) had very visible
difficulty in making Miss Flora understand that gifts bestowed as she
bestowed them were more welcome unmade.

Every day, from one quarter or another, came stories like these to the
ears of Miss Maggie and Mr. Smith. But Miss Flora was seen very
seldom. Then one day, about a month later, she appeared as before at
the Duff cottage, breathless and agitated; only this time, plainly,
she had been crying.

"Why, Flora, what in the world is the matter?" cried Miss Maggie, as
she hurried her visitor into a comfortable chair and began to unfasten
her wraps.

"I'll tell you in a minute. I came on purpose to tell you. But I want
Mr. Smith, too. Oh, he ain't here, is he?" she lamented, with a
disappointed glance toward the vacant chair by the table in the
corner. "I thought maybe he could help me, some way. I won't go to
Frank, or Jim. They've--they've said so many things. Oh, I did so hope
Mr. Smith was here!"

"He is here, dear. He's in his room. He just came in. I'll call him,"
comforted Miss Maggie, taking off Miss Flora's veil and hat and
smoothing back her hair. "But you don't want him to find you crying
like this, Flora. What is it, dear?"

"Yes, yes, I know, but I'm not crying--I mean, I won't any more. And
I'll tell you just as soon as you get Mr. Smith. It's only that I've
been--so silly, I suppose. Please get Mr. Smith."

"Well, I--I did quite a lot of things after that. I was so glad and
happy to discover I could do things for folks. It seemed to--to take
away the wickedness of my having so much, you know; and so I gave food
and money, oh, lots of places here in town--everywhere, 'most, that I
could find that anybody needed it."

"Yes, I know. We heard of the many kind things you did, dear." Miss
Maggie had the air of one trying to soothe a grieved child.

"But they didn't turn out to be kind--all of 'em," quavered Miss
Flora. "Some of 'em went wrong. I don't know why. I tried to do 'em
all right!"

"Yes. I got 'em--lots of 'em--after the first one--the one you saw.
First I got one, then another and another, till lately I've been
getting 'em every day, 'most, and some days two or three at a time."

"And they all wanted--money, I suppose," observed Mr. Smith, "for
their sick wives and children, I suppose."

"Oh, not for children always--though it was them a good deal. But it
was for different things--and such a lot of them! I never knew there
could be so many kinds of such things. And I was real pleased, at
first,--that I could help, you know, in so many places."

"Oh, yes. Why, I just had to, the way they wrote; I wanted to, too.
They wrote lovely letters, and real interesting ones, too. One man
wanted a warm coat for his little girl, and he told me all about what
hard times they'd had. Another wanted a brace for his poor little
crippled boy, and he told me things. Why, I never s'posed folks could
have such awful things, and live! One woman just wanted to borrow
twenty dollars while she was so sick. She didn't ask me to give it to
her. She wasn't a beggar. Don't you suppose I'd send her that money?
Of course I would! And there was a poor blind man--he wanted money to
buy a Bible in raised letters; and of course I wouldn't refuse that!
Some didn't beg; they just wanted to sell things. I bought a diamond
ring to help put a boy through school, and a ruby pin of a man who
needed the money for bread for his children. And there was--oh, there
was lots of 'em--too many to tell."

"No, I haven't finished," moaned Miss Flora, almost crying again. "And
now comes the worst of it. As I said, at first I liked it--all these
letters--and I was so glad to help. But they're coming so fast now I
don't know what to do with 'em. And I never saw such a lot of things
as they want--pensions and mortgages, and pianos, and educations, and
wedding dresses, and clothes to be buried in, and--and there were so
many, and--and so queer, some of 'em, that I began to be afraid maybe
they weren't quite honest, all of 'em, and of course I can't send to
such a lot as there are now, anyway, and I was getting so worried.
Besides, I got another one of those awful proposals from those
dreadful men that want to marry me. As if I didn't know that was for
my money! Then to-day, this morning, I--I got the worst of all." From
her bag she took an envelope and drew out a small picture of several
children, cut apparently from a newspaper. "Look at that. Did you ever
see that before?" she demanded.

"Indeed, it ain't! The one I showed you before is in my bureau drawer
at home. But I got it out this morning, when this one came, and
compared them; and they're just exactly alike--exactly!"

"Oh, he wrote again, then,--wants more money, I suppose," frowned Miss
Maggie.

"No, he didn't. It ain't the same man. This man's name is Haley, and
that one was Fay. But Mr. Haley says this is a picture of his
children, and he says that the little girl in the corner is Katy, and
she's deaf and dumb; but Mr. Fay said her name was Rosie, and that she
was lame. And all the others--their names ain't the same, either, and
there ain't any of 'em blind. And, of course, I know now that--that
one of those men is lying to me. Why, they cut them out of the same
newspaper; they've got the same reading on the back! And I--I don't
know what to believe now. And there are all those letters at home that
I haven't answered yet; and they keep coming--why, I just dread to see
the postman turn down our street. And one man--he wrote twice. I
didn't like his first letter and didn't answer it; and now he says if
I don't send him the money he'll tell everybody everywhere what a
stingy t-tight-wad I am. And another man said he'd come and take it if
I didn't send it; and you know how afraid of burglars I am! Oh what
shall I do, what shall I do?" she begged piteously.

"Oh, dear! I wish you could. Do you think you can? I hoped maybe you
could help me some way, but I never thought of that--your answering
'em, I mean. I supposed everybody had to answer their own letters.
How'll you know what I want to say?"

"I shan't be answering what you want to say--but what I want to say.
In this case, Miss Flora, I exceed the prerogatives of the ordinary
secretary just a bit, you see. But you can count on one thing--I
shan't be spending any money for you."

"But I was having a beautiful time giving until these horrid letters
began to come."

"Flora, do you give because you like the sensation of giving, and of
receiving thanks, or because you really want to help somebody?" asked
Miss Maggie, a bit wearily.

"Why, Maggie Duff, I want to help people, of course," almost wept Miss
Flora.

Well, then, suppose you try and give so it will help them, then," said
Miss Maggie. "One of the most risky things in the world, to my way of
thinking, is a present of--cash. Don't you think so, Mr. Smith?"

"There, dear," she admonished her, "now, you do just as Mr. Smith
says. Just hand over your letters to him for a while, and forget all
about them. He'll tell you how he answers them, of course. But you
won't have to worry about them any more. Besides they'll soon stop
coming,--won't they, Mr. Smith?"

"I think they will. They'll dwindle to a few scattering ones, anyway,-
-after I've handled them for a while."

"Well, I should like that," sighed Miss Flora. "But--can't I give
anything anywhere?" she besought plaintively.

Once again, before he answered, Mr. Smith threw a swiftly questioning
glance into Miss Maggie's face.

"Yes, oh, yes; I believe in--investigation," he said then. "And now,
Miss Flora," he added briskly, as Miss Flora reached for her wraps,
"with your kind permission I'll walk home with you and have a look at-
-my new job of secretarying."